Page 6 of Going Deep

“Naked would be if I’d shucked my pants. Which might’ve happened if you’d been a few minutes later. It’s dang hot out tonight.”

“Yeah, it is.” She crossed her arms. “So what’re you doing here?”

Colt didn’t answer.

Paige pointed at the flatbed. “I mean right here, here. I know why you’re at the wedding.”

In truth, she also knew why he might’ve seen fit to get drunk tonight, circumstances being what they were and all.

It wasn’t every day—thank God—that your ex-wife married your brother and the whole town showed up to support them. Though Colt had been remarkably stoic, laughing and joking as if the whole situation wasn’t prime Maury material. Wade and Charlene were amazing people, and anyone could understand how their paths had separated all those years ago. Even so, their road to wedded bliss was a bit…unusual to say the least.

“I couldn’t find my damn new truck,” he muttered. “Must be sixteen black pickups still parked here.”

She lifted a brow as if to say see, you’re drunk.

“Then they’re all blocking everyone in, and I dropped my damn clicker…” He trailed off and shook his head. “Gotta say it’s probably a good thing if I don’t drive myself home.” He paused. “I had a few, but in the scheme of things, I’m not really that drunk.”

“Not that drunk is like a little bit pregnant. Basically impossible.”

He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “After I find my clicker, I’ll call Drake and get out of your hair. Don’t s’pose you have a flashlight, do you?”

Saying nothing, she jogged back to grab her mini flashlight from the glove compartment. Instead of putting away the baton, she gripped it lightly in her other hand. She still reserved the right to use it if need be.

She returned to him and held out the flashlight. “Here you go, Mr. Bennett,” she said, adding emphasis to the last two words. She’d be damned if she let any familiarity grow between them.

The sensation growing between her legs as her gaze skipped over his still-visible abs was bad enough.

Besides, she liked annoying him. Probably a little too much.

With a sigh, he stepped over the tailgate onto the ground like a damn gazelle, his abs bunching and rippling. She shouldn’t be able to see every ridge and dip so well in the moonlight, but maybe the alcohol had sharpened her vision. Yeah, right. Or else extreme horniness had granted her the ability to fill in the details.

He trained the flashlight at the gravel drive, swinging the beam to and fro. She watched him for a moment before heaving a sigh of her own and reaching for the flashlight. Her fingers brushed his hand and hell if she didn’t hiss like a startled kitten, making him glance up at her in alarm.

“You okay?”

His voice was so husky and deep, but it was his skin, five-alarm hot and rough all over, that had made her react so strongly. He worked long hours in the fields with his horses, and touching him proved it. His hands felt like sandpaper, but not in a bad way. Those broad hands promised thrills and delights she hadn’t known probably ever. Which was just pathetic.

“I’m fine, Colt. Give me the flashlight.”

He did as she asked. “Hey, first time you didn’t call me Mr. Bennett,” he teased. “Progress.”

She didn’t reply. That might’ve been because she’d gone temporarily mute, due to the spectacular ass she could now see outlined in his dark dress pants as he bent over to peer at the ground. Her night vision tonight was seriously creeping her out.

That was it, she was done eating carrots. Forever.

“Jesus, I was standing right here. Where could the stupid thing have gone?”

She flashed the light around. “It’s awfully dark out.” Not too dark to see his abs and ass apparently, but too dark to find a small black object.

“I know, but I’m not really wanting to wait until morning.” He pivoted on his heels and swept over a patch of grass with his hand. “It’s gotta be— Aw, fuck. Motherfucker.” He jumped to his feet and she saw the gleam of dark on his fingers before he shoved them in his mouth.

“What’s wrong? What’d you do?” The instant urge to soothe overrode her natural wariness in his direction. She set down the flashlight and baton, then snatched his hand, drawing it toward her so she could examine it in the faint wash of moonlight. “You cut yourself. Glass?”

“Probably. My own fault for— Hey, hey,” he said as she grabbed the poufy flower thing on her hip and ripped.

Okay, a little melodramatic maybe, but she’d been searching for a reason to decimate that damn flower all night. This would suffice.

The material tore with just a few tugs, but unfortunately, she didn’t just get the protruding part of her dress. A healthy swath of the fabric at her hip came with it, leaving a nice jagged slit right over the outside of her thigh and back toward her ass.

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